Greg, much taken aback, answered as stoutly as he could: "I hope so." "Then take this, and bring me back the little black book." She pressed a piece of cold metal into his hand. For a brief second Greg hesitated. The strange command took his breath away. "I do not ask it for myself," she pleaded. "The happiness of a whole people depends on it!" Greg seriously doubted the wisdom of the proceeding, but being young he could not take a dare from a girl. He slipped out of his seat. "Keep the engine running," he said. "Whom shall I ask for at the door?" "Señor Francisco de Socotra." He crossed the pavement. That which she had thrust in his hand was a small but business-like automatic revolver. CHAPTER IV IN THE HOUSE ON NINTH STREET The house fronting Greg was built according to an old-fashioned plan imported from Continental countries, of which there are two or three examples still extant in the older parts of New York. Though but a small house it was laid out on a liberal plan. At one side great double doors carried a driveway through to the rear. In other words, in the old days the carriage and pair of the owners had driven right in the front door. Greg pulled the old-fashioned bell, and presently one side of the big door swung open of itself operated by a lever within the house. This in itself had an uncanny effect. Inside Greg found himself in a well-proportioned corridor running through to the yard behind. He took the precaution to leave the big door slightly ajar behind him. At his right hand were severally a service entrance, a wicket and the main door of the house. The corridor was empty. It was lighted by an electric globe in the ceiling. At the wicket appeared the head of a negro servant who with a villainous scowl demanded to know what he wanted. After all it was four o'clock in the morning; a servant might reasonably be indignant at being called up at such an hour (though, by the way, this man was fully dressed), but there was more in it than that. Greg thought he had never seen so evil a face, and his hand instinctively closed tighter around the revolver in his pocket. In a firm voice he named the man that he wished to see, and the negro after a hard stare directed him with a nod to the main door beyond. He closed the wicket. Greg waited with a fast beating heart. After no great space of time the door was opened and de Socotra himself stood before Greg with an expression of strong curiosity. It was borne in on Greg afresh that he was an uncommonly handsome man; moreover, villain though he might be, there was a superb boldness in his air that commanded an unwilling admiration. Recognizing the chauffeur that had driven him earlier in the night, he fell back warily. Greg gave him no time to think. Stepping close to him, he drew the revolver and pressed the muzzle to his ribs. "If you cry out I'll pull the trigger," he whispered harshly.